


Can't See the Forest for the Wood

by Qu-ko (Quthemighty)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Female Warrior of Light - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 00:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quthemighty/pseuds/Qu-ko
Summary: “You are stuck here, freezing, unable to do much else until the storm passes. Do you not think getting our blood pumping would be... just the thing, really, to keep us warm?”A frivolous account of a precarious night and a slightly awkward morning.





	Can't See the Forest for the Wood

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure how well I like this one, particularly the flow of it, but I'm hoping it captures the sense (or one depiction, really) of how a relationship between Haurchefant and the Warrior of Light might be.
> 
> Actually, I just wanted an excuse to write this. Timeline-wise, I would assume it's somewhere just before 3.0. Perhaps it's their first time, perhaps not. I'll let you be the judge.

It’s small. It has one bed, a table and chair. It isn’t the pinnacle of luxury, but for you as an adventurer, it’s a night of being able to sleep for hours without fear of your bedfellows or a knife under your pillow. Camp Dragonhead is not designed for guests; you’re sure they aren’t so much worried about the quantity of knights as much as the lack of resources and space, but you took your chances anyway, and this is the result.

“Is this your room?” you ask, studying the planes of his face.

“It is.”

A sharp prick of something heavy settles in your chest, and you find yourself unable to hide your smirk. “How much did you _drink_ tonight, Haurchefant?”

Haurchefant lets out a huff. “Not much. Yet, I felt as though I could bring you here without much fuss to the contrary,” he admits, toeing off his boots and letting them fall to the floor.

You give him as careful a once-over as you can without rousing suspicion. He deposits himself on top of the mattress, casually, as if he brings adventurers into his room every day. But then he gives you a look that seems to say _you’re something I want,_ and you wonder if he sees it reflected back at him as your face fills with color under his gaze.

“Will you not stay?” he tries eventually, starting to shed the outer layers of his gear, “Dying of cold weather is not the way I thought you would go out, after all.”

You huff. “We’ll see who dies of cold weather when I throw you out into the snow in your smallclothes for being fresh.”

It’s slow to come to fruition, but Haurchefant grins, moving quickly even though he seems reluctant to lose his layers. “I would much rather you not push yourself. Let us both stay out of the cold.” He drops his haubergeon on the floor, and it turns out, illuminated by the lamp light, that he is beautiful. Lean and faintly scarred, shoulders broad and the v of his hips ridiculously tempting.

The two of you stare at one another after that. You watch as he slides under the cool fabric – pants still _on_ , somehow – and rests his head against the stiff mattress, fine hair splaying out against it.

“You’re really asking to get us both in trouble,” you manage through a dry throat.

“So then come to bed and keep an eye on me. I worry for your unnatural pallor tonight; you look like the dead.”

“I keep telling you I don’t want any special treatment...”

“I believe there are other soldiers snuggling just as sweetly not twenty yalms from us in either direction,” Haurchefant says innocently.

It’s true; they must huddle for warmth often here. That softens your hesitation. Dropping your own outer garb onto the floor, you slide under the thin blankets. He is quick to roll you over and press up against you so that his chest lines your back and lets his arms wrap around you–

You gasp, protesting, “Your hands are like ice!”

“I know. But your belly is nice and warm,” he hums, and then winces when you elbow him in the ribs. But you shift beneath the covers, your fingers curling around his hands as if to warm them with your smaller ones.

He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, the tension around his mouth loosening. With his hand rubbing your chilled skin, you choose to believe it’s because he worries about you, and wants you to be warm.

You pause for a while. “I almost feel like if an attack fell upon us in this state, I would be of no use to you. I can barely move my hands.”

“They seem like a warm blessing to me,” Haurchefant says easily, but your quiet words concern him, and he draws you closer still against him, enveloping you all the more in his arms.

No knight would even consider the possibility of falling to a mere winter storm, however fierce. Even trapped in the freezing cold, they all know that they will find a way to get by if there comes to be any real danger. But it’s still unnerving to have the reminders so vivid: your shivering body, your grim prompt that other dangers might yet lurk, the howling of the wind outside as it grows especially loud.

“Don’t you want to sleep?” he asks, voice low.

“No.”

“Nor do I. But between the two of us, I think I have been quite fortunate with this arrangement.”

You exhale a breath, and whisper, “You take too many liberties.”

Then his lips brush behind your ear, nuzzling to the corner of it, and this time the shudder that twists under your skin is very different from the miserable cold.

“You are stuck here, freezing, unable to do much else until the storm passes. Do you not think getting our blood pumping would be... just the thing, really, to keep us warm?”

You hold his stare, evaluating his sincerity and weighing the pros and cons in your mind. He could have used more words: encouraging, tempting, wheedling words. But he reins himself in, waiting for you to come to your own conclusion. He probably does not want to be said to have influenced you into it later, even though he knows he’s hardly capable of influencing you to do something you _truly_ do not wish to do, and certainly not without a fierce fight.

It comes as somehow no surprise to either of you when your lips find his, and he pushes your hair from your face and curves over you like a willow, all adoring tongue and searing passion as he cups your face securely in his hands. He tastes and smells faintly of alcohol; if you try hard enough, you think you can physically sense the aetherial magnetism between you, too.

“Won’t it be obvious if we rut together?” you ask with a touch of dizziness, under your breath. In response, Haurchefant leans in fearlessly, brushing your neck with his lips as his hand strokes your belly again, fingers brushing still lower to find the waistband of your trousers. You let out a breath through your teeth and warn him, “Pardon – you will _not_ play that game.”

“What game?”

“The _force your partner to make noise_ game.”

He begins to complain, “But that is our favorite game,” but when you open your lips and narrow your eyes to hiss a response, he instead murmurs quietly, “Yes, ma’am. What I meant to say is, would you do me the honor, or...?”

He would stop, you realize suddenly. You’re wet against him and he's hard against you, both on the verge of ruin, but he would stop right now if you asked him to, if he thought you didn't want this. Something more than lust, something that has been brewing for just as long, bursts in your chest and makes your eyes hot.

In affirmation, you manage, “Please.”

Finally, Haurchefant makes a sound of acknowledgment and delves his touch still lower, nudging between your legs to find your folds. Your breath catches, the muscles in your back twitching against his chest. He goes slowly, mindful that you both must be quiet. Using just one finger to start, he rubs slowly up and down the seam of you, spreading the thick fluid over your skin. Then he lets it drift up, finding your clit and flickering his touch over it, again and again, quick for only a heartbeat – long enough for you to bite your lip, breathing fast and reedy, shifting against him to part your legs a little invitingly further – and then he slows it again, circling steadily.

There is a flush rising under your skin, and though your eyes are closed, he seems to find himself irresistibly drawn to you again, his mouth finding your ear and pulling it into his teeth. You make a very soft sound in the back of your throat, and regret deeply that you are, in fact, not playing the game: he would coax that sound out of you in full voice, play your body until you were groaning, hips working for more...

His own arousal presses firmly against your back, growing quickly until he is distractingly hard. Haurchefant strokes you again, this time with two fingers, and then they dip deep, easing into you without resistance. He scrapes his teeth over your lobe, making your frame tighten with response, but you stay quiet, almost motionless, except for the hurried rise and fall of your chest.

Even like this, struggling against your own reaction, he seems to find it mesmerizing. His lips curve up, and he rocks his fingers in an even rhythm, filling you as best they can and then slipping half out; he wants it to be him, _imagines_ it being him, you can just see it, but he focuses firmly on your pleasure, bringing a third finger to bear against your clit. You turn your head against the coarse pillow, breathing growing more labored, urgency building–

Completely not ready for the voice that calls from the hallway, “I'll have water to a boil in just a moment! Not that I'm at all worried, when most of you have likely flapped your mouths enough to generate all the heat you need to get by. Adventurer, if you’re to stay, help me with the pot.”

That is... the woman who works in the kitchens. Damn it. You freeze, unable to pull yourself out of the moment enough to think of an answer, or even to move. It is Haurchefant who yells through the door, “She fell right to sleep, Medguistl.”

He presses his lips to the back of your neck again, fervent appreciation. The rest of him he keeps completely motionless, paralysis his only protection against the sudden very potent reminder that you are _not_ alone.

“Then you help. The fire will only take me a second to prepare, and then you can be warm, as well.”

Another beat of silence passes before he says, "Yes, all right." He quickly withdraws his hands, murmuring in an undertone, “Though I am more than warm enough right now...”

  


* * *

  


The bed is hard. So is he.

Haurchefant has enveloped you in his arms in his sleep. The fact it had woken you up at the time was originally irrelevant, because he had been warm, and you had fallen right back to sleep. But now you’re in a situation which has you stuck between a rock and a hard place – quite literally.

It wouldn't be so bad if, every time you move to disengage yourself from his long limbs, he just tightens his hold. You don’t really want to wake him up, but it seems that’s what you’re going to have to do.

You push back against him and try to wedge your arms between his arms and your body. It results in two things: a very impressive erection getting caught between your legs when he pushes his hips against you, and him burying his face in your hair and softly moaning your name.

“ _Haurchefant_...” you grouse, nudging him with your shoulder. “Unless you plan on making use of that, you need to get on your side of the bed.”

...You could have worded that better, for sure.

He startles slightly, takes a moment to assess, and then nuzzles behind your ear. “How would you like me to use it, then?”

You hum. “I might be able to think of a few things.” You feel his hand flatten on your stomach again, fingers twitching lightly, making you swallow. In your trepidation, you must lapse into silence for too long to be comfortable, because you feel Haurchefant draw in a breath and make to move away. You reach back and put a hand on his hip, turning just enough that you can see him.

“Finish what you started. Please. You’re killing me.”

He hums with curious interest. “I must confess, I scarcely realized women were also subject to their own version of morning arousal.”

“They are when there's someone encouraging it,” you wheeze in reply.

Haurchefant moves back enough that he can roll you onto your back. He is naked except for his pants, the front taunt and tented with evidence of his arousal as he clamors between your legs. Whether the patch of dampness was caused by him or you, you aren’t sure.

“I would very much enjoy taking an extended period of time later to fully pleasure you and learn every inch of your body. But I fear doing so presently would risk something... unfortunate.”

“Trust me, it would.”

He doesn’t bother removing pants or smallclothes, only wrenches things out of the way just enough to make things work. You only have time to breath a quiet “Twelve help me” when he pulls his own down enough to free his erection. It isn’t long, just a few moments of alignment and silent assessment, before he makes a low, hungry noise and then sinks into you, bringing both hands to your hips. He braces himself over you, one hand flat against the mattress at either of your shoulders, and leans down enough to rest his forehead against yours as he begins to move, slowly at first, then faster, deeper strokes. Fire dances through your veins, sparking response in your blood; every breath that you draw, every thrust deep into you, sears like liquid pleasure.

 _Good,_ so good... Haurchefant ducks down to kiss the nape of your neck, arms winding around you to bring his hands to the places he knows will make your body sing even more. He’s warm, surrounding and filling you, and every time it makes you want to melt into him and never recover. You almost don’t need the fingers that work your clit, but you cannot protest, moaning his name again on as quiet a note as you can as you start to shudder once more.

He keeps going while you spasm and ripple around him, plowing into the embrace of your pliant body, and you brace yourself, catching your breath until he follows, venting a raw, restrained groan into your neck.

When he topples to the mattress, he rolls you over so that you are draped over his chest, and you curl against him, shifting to tuck your nose into the crook of his neck. You both lay like that for a while, getting your breathing under control, stilling your wild heartbeats.

Then, finally, you laugh and lay your chin and hands on his clavicle, peering down at him. His eyes glimmer up at you as he shares your amusement; a moment of comfortable silence passes.

“I’m loath to admit I am a bit overdue to bathe, at this point...”

You let out a discreet cough; the leer down at him is less discreet. "Now that you mention that – I haven’t had a proper bath in a few days now..."

“Ah. I daresay we would have a modicum more privacy there, don’t you think?” he says, grinning wide.

The blizzard yet rages long into the morning.


End file.
